


You Know We're Gonna Be Legends

by gunboots



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: AU, Crack, I'm so sorry, M/M, Mentions of Violence, mage illya and warden napoleon, somewhat spoilers for dragon age ii, the dragon age au that no one else wanted, there's some brief cameos in here and i'm sorry for that too, wow self serving au go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/pseuds/gunboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Solo smiles but there's no mirth in it, instead he raises his goblet: "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." </p><p>Illya finds the strength to actually throw himself at the man, pure frustration giving him power. He doesn't manage much, but he does knock the drink from Solo's hand. </p><p>It's a remarkable precedent for their future life together.</p><p> </p><p>The one where Illya is a mage from Kirkwall terrified of becoming an apostate and Napoleon is the Grey Warden who invokes the rite of conscription to save his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know We're Gonna Be Legends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nescienx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nescienx/gifts), [ceredin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceredin/gifts), [reeei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeei/gifts).



> So I had this crazy thought for a dragon age AU where originally Illya was a mage and Napoleon was a pirate and then twitter happened and then emotional chicken and it became this sad affair where Illya was a Circle mage who was terrified of being made tranquil like his father and Napoleon was the Grey Warden who saved his life by forcing him into joining. 
> 
> I don't even know--I'm gifting this fic to the enablers and VAWN. ILU VAWN--I'M SORRY I DID THE THING. Fenris is not even mentioned at least ONCE and I'm very sorry for that. I did a basic spell check but I'm sure there are probs some grammar errors so please forgive me for that too. Title is from Halsey's 'Young Gods'. Lastly I'm sure I played fast and loose with a lot of dragon age lore. My bad.

Illya should have never interfered. He should have continued onward towards Starkhaven, continued onward to the task assigned by the Knight-Commander. He should have never stopped to aid the Grey Warden along the way, hopelessly surrounded by darkspawn. There'd been a small village nearby virtually defenseless that Illya couldn't ignore...even if he should have. 

If he had continued on, he wouldn't have been hit with the arrow to his side, felt the darkspawn poison boil and burn through him. He wouldn't have fallen at the Warden's feet. Ready for death, ready to go to the Maker's side.

Illya hadn't expected the Warden to pause, to slip him darkspawn blood through something that could have been a kiss--a rough bite between their lips. It'd felt like the acid and for a deep, sharp moment, all he'd seen was pain and demons and terror and then--

Clarity.

\---

"I'll admit, I didn't realize saving your life was going to end in you trying to KILL me." The bastard has the audacity to sound SURPRISED, Illya hurls another burst of fire in his direction. He feels like the flames dancing along his nerves, bright hot hate. He shouldn't expel energy like this, not when he can still feel darkspawn voices buzzing in his mind, not when he can still feel the taint singing inside. If he is careful, maybe it will leave, maybe this curse will lift itself--he can go back to the Circle. Back to the First Enchanter and his soft polices, the Knight-Commander and her iron-fist, back to--

"I don't understand--you're from KIRKWALL, they HUNT mages in Kirkwall--not only did I save your life, I gave you a very attractive alternative to being locked in the Gallows." Illya tries to concentrate, tries to figure out where the voice is coming from. Tries not to think about the alternative--a Grey Warden Mage. Little better than an APOSTATE. The implication chills him to the core. He needs to force this Warden to rescind his conscription, force him to explain to the Circle that Illya would not leave, that he would have GLADLY gone to the Maker had the Warden not interf--

Illya feels something sharp and stinging in his side and his vision blurs. He sways at the sudden slap of poison in his veins and tries to use his staff for support. He feels it fall from his fingers and his legs begin to fold under him. The Warden doesn't have use for him after all--Illya feels relieved. He will die as he should have, he was loyal to the Circle, to the Maker, to Andraste.

As his world seeps away, a rush of color fading from vision, he hears that incessant voice again: "You'll thank me for this later."

\---

The Warden does NOT return him to the Circle. Or to Kirkwall. He never again sees the stone twins with their winding chains. Instead Illya wakes up miles away from Starkhaven, in a decrepit inn with molding sheets.

He tries to sit up but instantly feels vertigo slam him down onto the bed like a punch of force magic. His mouth tastes like cotton and his stomach feels like death.

"Sorry about that--little relic from my pirating days. I needed you to calm down and my reflexes may have acted quicker than I meant them too. You'll be fine in a few days once we are on a ship away from the Free Marches." The Warden explains, glib from the bed across from him, a goblet in his hand. Illya wants to choke him, wants to sear his bones for what he's done. And yet, Illya's staff is next to the Warden, his body feels so heavy. "I know that you're angry--honestly, being a Grey Warden is more of a lifestyle than a career--but that, my dear mage, involved you LIVING. I wasn't about to let you die for my mistakes."

Illya slurs something that could have been a rebuttal that the Warden ignores.

"I still don't understand why you're so upset about this. However, in the spirit of our new found partnership, I should tell you that the POINT of being conscripted is that it is completely involuntarily. You could do worse, have you met Warden Hawke? You would absolutely hate that guy. Unlike him, I'm sure you'll find that I'm agreeable. It's nice to make your acquaintance, I'm Warden Solo." 

Warden Solo smiles but there's no mirth in it, instead he raises his goblet: "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." 

Illya finds the strength to actually throw himself at the man, pure frustration giving him power. He doesn't manage much, but he does knock the drink from Solo's hand.

It's a remarkable precedent for their future life together. 

\---

"Take me back." Illya demands, days later and leaning over the railing on the damned boat out the Free Marches. Any marvel he had at seeing the open sea for the first time has long since subsided since the nausea hit. Next to him, Solo continues to read over papers sent from a Warden contact.

"Can't do that I'm afraid-- you know the saying once a Warden always a Warden until death." Is all that Solo replies, flipping between the sheets. "May want to watch out though Mage, I hear that the stew here is horrendous."

Illya's scathing rebuttal is lost as the waves splash him in the face. 

\---

"Take me back." Illya demands again, the following week when they finally reach blessed land. He'd had no more than a few minutes peace before he was dragged to a small Warden outpost in Rivain and shoved into battle robes. The Warden robes chafe, none of the comfort or grace of his Circle robes--feel like further steps away from Kirkwall, the Circle, and his former life. Illya finds that he also dislikes Rivain as well--he's never had to face such heat before and his skin burns a blotchy red. Also he's constantly pick-pocketed, which amuses Solo to fits. 

"I already told you I can't. Stop asking--I'm starting to think you have a problem with ME." Solo says, conversational as they walk past the market stalls in the city's center. He has a new set of daggers strapped to his back and blood on his knuckles. Of course Solo would be at peace among the Rivani people and their fast hands and faster mouths. 

"I do--you TOOK me from my HOME." Illya seethes, glaring at any who would come close. Solo hardly seems bothered by the wide berth suddenly granted and instead inspects a tomato from a vendor.

"I SAVED you from darkspawn taint--hardly the same thing." Solo clarifies, before turning to hold up the tomato. "Your thoughts on dinner?" 

\---

"Please take me back." Illya says, one last time. He's already spent months in Solo's company. Right now, he's tired, covered in darkspawn filth and gore after a surprise ambush on the way to Val Royeaux. His robes do not chafe anymore, his staff has long since been replaced, and he is aware that he is not the same mage that left the Circle on a fool's errand so long ago. 

"Well, at least there's a 'please' this time." Solo sighs, leaning into the cot as one of the Warden healers tends to his wounds. Spirit magic always was too delicate and too precise for Illya, and the chance to observe it is the only reason he stays by Solo. Even if Solo's right side is caked in blood and through the dim light even Illya can see the flash of broken bone in his arm. All because Solo had taken a blow clearly meant for him. No, Illya is not trying to desperately dwell on that at all. Truly. 

The more time Illya spends with Solo, the more he realizes he's becoming acclimated to being a Grey Warden. Guilt and desperation slide in his stomach like the oil and vinegar.

Kirkwall is so far away and now more than ever does Illya fear that he is becoming wild, an apostate in blue and grey. 

\---

Despite the healers' best efforts, Solo spends three days confined to his bed. Illya does not leave his side for a variety of reasons he's not sure how to examine or explain.

"You know, you're not like any mage I've ever met." Solo says, weakened even as the magic in his bones weaves together to make him whole again. "What are you so afraid of that you have to go back to Kirkwall?”

Illya thinks of hollow eyes, hollow hearts, of a father and of accusations. Perhaps it is because he thinks Napoleon won’t remember in the morning, or perhaps it is due to begrudging acceptance that he returning maybe impossible now. Not with all the darkspawn he’s killed, all the places he’s seen, or all that he's done away from the Circle. 

“A mage outside of the Circle can be possessed by demon. They can become abomination at any time.” And this is what he believes still, or at least is trying to. It’s…not so easy to consider now that he’s been a Warden for half a year. Still, the image of his father, the tranquil stamp, deep dark fear of not feeling _anything_ is fresh in his mind. “Is…safer for mages to be in tower.”

“You’re telling me that the only reason you want to go back to Kirkwall is because you’re afraid you’ll be possessed by a demon otherwise?” Solo laughs, actually laughs and Illya’s eyes narrow. Of course he wouldn’t understand. Of course he didn't know what it was like to be afraid every single moment of—

“You do understand that this entire time you’ve been outside of the tower and not ONCE have you even mentioned being tempted by a demon.” Illya stills, opens his mouth to argue, but finds the words caught in his throat. Solo smiles at him, something small and real and honest. “Like I said, you could do better than Kirkwall—you’re meant for bigger things Kuryakin.”

“You knew my name?” Illya manages after a moment, because it cannot be this easy to just leave everything behind, it will not be this easy…at least, not yet. "How? I never tell it to you."

“You were delivering a letter for the Knight-Commander, right? I stole it while you were busy helping the villagers evacuate near Starkhaven. Maker, she was going to have you made tranquil after you delivered it.” Solo says, his usual mask of disinterest fading fast and his usual calm fading faster. “You forgot about it after I conscripted you—thank Andraste’s jiggling ass. The letter wasn’t even important, just asking for Starkhaven’s support in case the Circle mages rebelled—she just didn’t want to take any chances in case you’d seen it.”

Illya feels fear dance down his spine, even through the haze of fatigue the simple ease that Meredith had given her orders knocks the breath out of his lungs. Relief escapes him, dread filling quickly instead.

At the look on his face, Solo sighs.

“For my sake and yours Illya, stay with me. Please.” 

\---

In a way, letting go is a lot easier than expected.

He had no real attachment to the Circle, to Kirkwall, to Orsino or Meredith or their petty squabbles. And perhaps in a way, his partner is right. Not that he’d ever TELL Solo.

“You should be calling me Senior Warden Napoleon, you know.” Solo says, months later as they make their way to Amaranthine. “You should call me that around everyone when we arrive, particularly around the Warden-Commander.”

“No.” Illya sniffs, even as he surveys the road before them leading up to the giant fortress in the distance. He’s nervous about meeting a legend in the flesh, and even if Solo has no sense of decorum, at least he does. 

“You’re going to love Howe, you’re going to hate Alistair if he and Carver are along but definitely going to love Howe. Ogren's going to disgust you.” Solo continues, swatting him on the back. He’s gotten increasingly forward with body contact lately and Illya has yet to dissuade him. Illya knows one day they’ll probably say or do something that will have to acknowledge it but for now he’s content to let Solo lead him onward.

Like he’s been doing this entire time.

\---

Napoleon is right, he despises Alistair, is disgusted by Ogren, and respects Howe.

Warden Carver Hawke is…not so bad. 

If childish.


End file.
